


The Lost Boy

by bruisedwillis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisedwillis/pseuds/bruisedwillis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek treated his relationship with Stiles like an addiction; he loved it and he hid it. But when he awoke one morning to find Stiles no longer in his bed, he intended to do more than just get him back - he was going after the blood of whoever took him. "Give him back. Give him back to me. Or I will take him back and take your spine with me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Wow hi guys! So I made this little AU snippet on tumblr and, well, everyone liked it so much I thought I'd venture to make it into a full story. I was going to work on more before I posted it, but I just kind of wanted to gauge interest? So have a nice little prologue and tell me how you feel!

_Prologue_  

Stiles woke up to a hard throbbing at the crown of his skull. He ran a hand over his short hair, feeling a slick wet lump sticking out from a place that he didn't think ever had a lump before. He was dizzy and couldn't see, but he realized when he put his hand close to his face that the wetness was blood. A few more seconds passed before he realized that the blood was probably coming from him.

As he sat up, the world tilted and everything slid out of view. It wasn't really moving, he told himself, but everything was changing so quickly and violently that he wondered if maybe the Earth really was rattling and shaking and trying to throw him off its surface. He put his hands on his face and breathed deep, and everything stopped. Finally he could open his eyes and focus.

The room was dark, barren concrete with a flimsy wood bench lined up against the wall. Directly in front of him was a door made of bars and beyond that lied a black hallway, a silent corridor with no signs of life. It was so silent that Stiles believed he may have gone deaf from the blow, that is until he heard himself quietly sobbing. Everything hurt and he ached with the most weighty reality that he was completely alone. 

 _***_  

Derek rolled over and yawned, stretching his arm out across a cold pillowcase, searching for the familiar touch of dewy skin and damp hair. Stiles had had night sweats ever since he was a little kid, but in the last couple years they'd become worse – ever since the werewolves and his nightmares setting in. When he and Derek had first started 'testing the waters', it'd been the thing Stiles had been most embarrassed about, but now Derek looked forward to feeling that sweaty pillow in the morning. It was so alive.

This morning, the pillow was ice cold and powder dry. Derek opened his eyes. It had been months since Stiles had ever left in the middle of the night. Immediately, nothing made sense.

He called Stiles but his phone went straight to voicemail. “Stiles Stilinski, here! Okay, there's a couple options for why I'm not answering my phone. A) I dropped it at the bottom of a pool holding up a 200 pound jackass in women-pants. B) I'm watching Judge Judy and my Chinese food is getting cold and the plaintiff just said that the defendant stole her Walmart card (which if that's the case you're a real dick for calling right now). Or C) Scott has pulled me into some hair-brained Scooby Doo scheme and I'm about to get suspended again, which is the most likely case, so call back later.”

Derek went around to the Stilinski's house next. He climbed on the roof and swung through the window. The room was dark and smelled musky, like it hadn't been lived in for a couple days. Derek pressed his palm onto Stiles' pillow and felt the heat; it was lifeless. It didn't even smell like Stiles anymore.

The world seemed absolutely absent of him. Almost as if Derek had dreamed him, the epitome of the worst and the best person he could think of smashed into one lanky teenager. It would be like Derek to torture himself with an imaginary person as annoyingly conflicting as that. He rubbed his head, feeling his temples throb beneath his touch; no, Stiles was real. He was just gone.


End file.
